


just a crush

by aradonie



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Bittersweet, Cute, Laver Cup, M/M, lowkey sad, saschanos rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradonie/pseuds/aradonie
Summary: After winning the Laver Cup for the third year in a row, Team Europe goes out to celebrate in a bar.Monday morning, Stefanos can’t get Sascha’s lips out of his mind.





	just a crush

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't really know why I wrote this in the first place... Saschanos rights I guess :')  
Enjoy this short fic that I've been hesitant about posting for the whole day

If anyone had told him that he would be coming out of his first Laver Cup with a huge crush on some German idiot - yet a terribly charming German, unfortunately for him - he would have laughed, maybe even sworn, because that kind of thing doesn’t happen. You don’t fall in love with your rivals, just as you don’t fall in love with your teammates. That's not how it’s supposed to work. That’s not something they teach you or warn you about. Apparently, it happens.

In love? No, not in love, just a crush. A stupid crush that would surely fade away with time, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Or maybe he's dreaming this, having another nightmare. Maybe he will wake up tomorrow morning and all of last night’s events, all of the fiery looks, will turn out to be the product of his overflowing imagination. Would he want to wake up if that were the case though? He’s afraid not.

Last night’s memories keep haunting him. He can’t help but think about what happened and think about it again, like some sort of miserable loser stuck in a loop. You can’t possibly forget the laugh of the one you long for, the white teeth that seem to shine brighter than the colourful lights of the club. _His_ blue eyes like the icy water of Swiss glaciers. _His_ eyes that from time to time twinkled with such warmth.

Yes, he had felt the burn of _his_ gaze on him, the electricity dancing around _him_: dominant, supreme, indisputable, cruel. _He_ could have asked for the moon and the sky, and his body would have obeyed _him_. There was in _his_ eyes more than Stefanos could understand. A little amusement, maybe an ounce of fear and apprehension, but most of all, what Stefanos could only perceive as curiosity.

It was a few minutes in the somber, run-down hallway leading to the bar's restroom. It was nothing more than an exchange of looks, an eyebrow raise and silence. A silence so heavy and painful, filled with all the things Stefanos could not say, was not supposed to say out loud. Things that should’ve stayed secret.

And then _he_ had smiled at him, because _he_ must know that _he_ has an overwhelming smile, that it has an indisputable effect on people. On Stefanos. It had made him breathless, if he wasn’t already. He hadn’t known what to do with his stupid body, his long useless arms, his legs that threatened to give up under the weight of his heart.

The music had seemed to dissipate for a few moments, all that was left was the sound of his heart ready to jump out of his ribcage, his heart that was braver than him and that would have liked to run and throw itself into _his_ oh so lovely-looking arms. Stefanos had wondered if _he_ could see through him, if _he_ could read his thoughts, if _he_ could hear his wild pulse. He was almost positive that was the case.

It didn’t make any sense. The fact that _he_ had not moved a centimetre made no sense. Stefanos couldn’t understand why _he_ was still staring at him; the others were surely waiting for _him_. They must’ve been wondering where _the champion_, _the saviour_, _the hero of the day_ had wandered off to. There was nothing - nobody - that prevented _him_ from leaving.

The more the seconds ticked by, the more Stefanos found it hard to breathe, as if _his_ smell had gradually replaced the breathable air around them, blending with the smells of various alcoholic beverages and cigarette smoke. _His_ eyes were sweet, _he_ had never looked at him like that before. Neither the time he had won his match, nor the times he had lost his doubles matches, nor the time he jumped on top of _him_ without thinking and stuck his body to _his_ in front of thousands of people, in front of the rest of the team and the opposing team, in front of Rod Laver.

There were so many things he could have said, so many words trapped in his throat. The smell of _his_ body had filled his nostrils and his whole body gradually. He had opened his mouth several times, looking for the words that he couldn’t find.

He felt like crying. The tears threatened to fall at any moment, but he would’ve never cried in front of _him_. No, he was already feeling vulnerable enough like that. Almost ashamed.

He couldn't bring himself to do anything, say anything. He felt miserable, like a helpless child faced with something so impossible to understand — to accept — within himself.

Why was _he_ not saying anything?

Why was _he_ staring at him?

Why was _he_ smiling at him?

Why was _he_ still there?

Stefanos had seen _his_ silhouette move gracefully, in slow motion, his short hair in a halo around his head, a complete mess, but still so perfect. Before he had seen _him_ standing in front of him, he had had time to blink and miss the exact moment when _he_ had put _his_ second shoe next to the first, only a few inches away from Stefanos'.

_ He _ was standing straight in front of him, _his_ face obstructing Stefanos' view completely. There was only _him_, warm skin under the yellow light of the corridor, eyes bluer than ever, soft blond hair just waiting to be touched. High cheekbones. Deep dimples framing _his_ mouth and _his_ teeth. Lips stretched in a radiant smile. _His_ lips. So close. So far. If he had bent forward just a little, he could have tasted them; that’s how close they were.

He didn’t have the courage to do it.

He didn't have the right.

The lips had come to meet his instead.

Hot and sweeter than he had ever allowed himself to imagine.

He had carefully raised his right hand, curious fingers approaching _his_ hip tentatively, too afraid they’d scare _him_ away. Two arms had found their way around his neck, fingers tangling in his curly hair and caressing his neck, wiping him clean from all hesitation.

His head was completely filled with what he could only describe as confused excitement, something he couldn't get rid of.

_ He _ tasted of the alcohol they had just drunk a few minutes earlier. Sweet and bitter at the same time. Vodka and Coca Cola. And something indescribable, but a taste that suited _him_ so well. A taste that Stefanos never wanted to forget.

His hands had touched everything they could reach : stroking _his_ lower back, _his_ hips, eagerly discovering the outline of _his_ abs through _his_ thin shirt. Tracing _his_ collarbones back and forth, highlighting _his_ defined jawline with his thumb.

If someone had decided to go to the bathroom, they would have seen them in the middle of the hallway. Stefanos wonders what would have happened then. Would he have been thrown aside, as if nothing had ever happened?

Some noise could be vaguely heard from inside the bar : laughter, maybe Roger's voice, the sound of glasses clinking and the usual excitement you feel after winning. Nothing was stronger than the sound Stefanos' heart produced inside his chest and that resonated in the very depths of his eardrums. The sound of his beating heart mixed with the breathing of two people kissing passionately.

But all things have an end.

Especially good things.

_ His _ lips finally separated themselves from his own and Stefanos had to force himself not to whimper. _He_ rested his forehead against his and tried to catch _his_ breath, _his_ arms still around him, palms flat against the back of his neck.

And they had stayed like that, their eyes closed for a little while. Time to realise, time to digest. Stefanos couldn't tell for how long they had disappeared from the others. He felt like it had been hours. In reality it was probably only a few minutes, a dozen at most. Nobody had paid attention to them. Surely. He hoped.

Stefanos would’ve liked for _him_ to say something. Anything. But something. Silence makes him nervous when he’s not on his own. The silence in the company of others — especially around _him_ — was heavy and asphyxiating.

_ He _ had taken a step back slowly, delicately, as if afraid he would harm Stefanos. _He_ had looked at him, straight in the eye and smiled again.

Stefanos had wanted to say something. He had to say something to avoid feeling like he had wasted an opportunity later on.

«Why?» Of course he had found nothing better to say. His brain barely functioning, his head filled with clouds, the unforgettable memory of the taste of _his_ lips, the electricity he felt when their bodies were in contact. His head was full of sensations linked to _him_, his nostrils full of _his_ addictive scent, his fingers still burning from the touch of _his_ warm skin, inside his clenched fists.

«I thought that was what you wanted.» It was the first time _he_ had spoken in what felt like an eternity. _His_ voice was deep, guttural, and destroying the last bit of lucidity that Stefanos still had. _He_ had accompanied _his_ answer with another smile, this one a little more amused.

Stefanos had had nothing to say, hadn't known what words to use. He had just stared at _him_ and taken a look at _his_ now red swollen lips. He slowly leaned in and kissed once again the lips that could never be his.

This kiss was not like the first. There was in this one the promise that it would be the last, the sadness related to such a claim.

They both knew that it couldn't work. They didn’t need to say it explicitly.

Their burning lips and their intertwined tongues had communicated everything words couldn’t have expressed. All of what was unspeakable between them.

Stefanos knew it was impossible and _he_ knew it too.

_ He _ had a girlfriend.

_ He _ had people he couldn’t disappoint.

Their bodies had reluctantly separated once again.

«Let us think of each other as rivals only.» Stefanos had found the strength to say something. It wasn’t perfect. He hadn’t necessarily chosen the best words, but it was enough.

He had looked one last time at the man causing his heart such pain and saw _his_ wet eyes shine in the harsh light.

_ Thank you, Sascha._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed
> 
> you can follow me on twitter :D [theoryofflove](https://twitter.com/theoryofflove)
> 
> (there might be a second chapter coming, just saying)


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